26 Kisses (16 page)

“Hey.” I pull back and flash him a wide smile. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

He lays a hand on my wrist, steadying me as I list to once side. “Ditto.” His top front teeth are slightly crooked, but he told me once he didn’t want to get braces because he’s terrified of going to the orthodontist. “Feeling good, Veda?”

I feign embarrassment and set the glass down. “Oh God. Is it that obvious?”

He shrugs. “A little. But not in a bad way.”

I glance over my shoulder, but Mel has melted away into the crowd. “I can’t let my dad find out. He’ll totally freak.” I grab Gabriel’s wrist and pull him toward an empty cabana. “Come on. Hang out with me while I sober up.”

Gabriel stumbles after me, laughing as I pull him along. The draping white fabric mostly shields us from view, and the fairy lights strung across the canopy give off a cozy, romantic glow. It’s like Lila’s party planners intended for people to sneak in here and make out.

“So, what are you up to this summer?” Gabriel asks, sinking onto a bench and patting the space beside him. “Brushing up on your legal terminology?”

I wince. Being a debate term nerd really is my only claim to fame at Butterfield High. I guess that’s what I get for hiding behind my older, more outgoing boyfriend for two years. I toss my head, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “I’m kind of taking a break from all that right now,” I say, looking up at Gabriel with wide eyes. “Just hanging out. Training for a half marathon.” I smirk. “I’m sure you heard Mark and I broke up.” I look away, bracing against the brief flash of pain that still comes with saying those words out loud.

“Yeah.” Gabriel lays a comforting hand on my arm. “That must have been rough.”

I shrug and lock eyes with him. “It’s probably for the best. I’m ready to move on.”

There’s a beat of silence, and I consider going for the kiss right then. My lips part, and I tip my head up toward Gabriel’s. His grip tightens on my arm.

“Well, Mark doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Gabriel says, brushing his hair off his forehead. “You look great tonight, Veda.”

“Thanks.” This is the part where he’s supposed to lean over and kiss me.
Come on,
I silently urge him.
Do it.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I say, trying to give him an in.

Gabriel hesitates and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, which is unexpectedly sexy. I’m practically vibrating with anticipation and nerves. I want him to do it so I can cross the letter
G
off my list and leave this bizarrely upscale party, but I realize I actually also really want senior class president Gabriel Latimore to kiss me in this gorgeous, dimly lit cabana, the happy chatter of party guests and the waves of Lake Michigan in the background.

For whatever reason, though, he’s not getting the hint. We’re sitting so close to each other, I can feel the heat of his body through my dress, and we’re gazing into each other’s eyes, totally alone and shielded from view. He can’t be that oblivious to the tension building up between us—why won’t he make a move?

“You know what? I’m just going to go for it,” I announce, enjoying the split second of shock that registers on Gabriel’s face before I close my eyes and lean in, my mouth finding his. At first I’m afraid I’ve just made a huge fool of myself and this will be the most awkward kiss of all time. But then he kisses me back, more forcefully than I expected, his mouth opening slightly and his arm wrapping around my shoulders, bringing me closer. He smells like warm laundry and chocolate, and his hands are so hot, they feel like they’re burning my skin as he runs them down my arms.

I finally have to pull away to catch my breath, my heart hammering. Gabriel Latimore is a seriously good kisser. “Wow,” I say, tipping my head back and smiling. “I drank too much champagne, and that was amazing.”

He laughs and pulls my face back to his, beginning another scorching kiss that sends lightning bolts all the way down to my toes. My head is spinning so fast, I almost believe my own lie about being drunk. Gabriel’s lips move away from my face and to my neck, dipping down to my collarbone and then making their way back up. If he starts nibbling on my ear, I’m done for.

“I have to go,” I say, gasping and pulling away, very aware that what was supposed to be a quick drunk kiss is going way further than I had intended. “Even though I don’t want to.” I lean in one more time and kiss him, my hands finding his suspenders and holding him tight against me before wrenching myself away and running out of the cabana.

“What happened to you?” Mel comes out of nowhere and intercepts me as I flee Gabriel’s incredibly hot kisses. “You look”—she studies me—“disheveled.”

I grab her arm and pull her along with me, detouring toward the swing set, where Jeffrey and Chaundre are pushing Kaylee in the baby swing. “I’m leaving. Get a ride home with Dad if you don’t want to sleep over,” I call to Jeffrey.

“Gabriel Latimore is a kissing god,” I say to Mel, nodding and smiling at people I vaguely recognize as Dad’s friends as we pass. “And I was on the verge of letting myself be ravished in the cabana, so I ran.”

Mel lets out a low whistle, dropping back momentarily to kick off her stilettos, and trails after me in her bare feet. “I’m not surprised,” she says as we pile into the Buick. “He’s good at everything else . . . Why not that, too?”

“He did take forever to kiss me, though,” I say, pulling my shoes off and tugging my skirt down. “I actually had to start it. But once he got going . . . Wow.”

Mel grins at me as she starts the car. “Better than Mark?”

I close my eyes. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? The question I’m still not ready to face, seven kisses into my summer experiment. Was kissing Gabriel Latimore better than kissing the guy who I considered, up until a few weeks ago, the love of my life?

My first kiss with Mark wasn’t scorching hot. It didn’t melt me down into a little puddle of hormones, and it wasn’t the kind of kiss you could write to a teen magazine about, because it didn’t take place under a waterfall or on the football field in front of the entire school. There wasn’t anything particularly special or interesting about that kiss, except it was our first one—and as soon as Mark pulled away and looked into my eyes, I felt like I had come home. We never looked back from that moment. From that kiss forward, it was Mark and me, me and Mark. Until the day it wasn’t.

“No,” I say finally. My eyes are still closed, but I can feel Mel watching me, and I know she’s going to be disappointed with my answer. “It wasn’t better than Mark.”

Frank the Bartender

Dad and Lila’s party

I kissed the back of his jacket

2/l0 (an extra point because he smelled good)

Gabriel Latimore

Also Dad and Lila’s party

We made out in the cabana!

9/l0

Mom has the next day off, so I get to drive the car to work. I turn on Killian’s radio station and sing along to the songs I know by heart now, going over last night’s kiss with Gabriel in my head. I almost can’t believe I went through with it.

“Hey!” I say, jogging over to Killian after I’ve stashed my backpack in the office.

“Hey.” He holds out his hand for a high five, making me jump up to smack my palm against his, but his smile is subdued. I realize with a jolt that I never texted him back yesterday. “Let’s get going.” There is already a crowd of people waiting impatiently to board the bus.

Killian barely says a word as we drive the first reservation up to the river. The ride back is completely silent except for the bounces and creaks the old minibus makes as it jars over the ruts in the dirt road. The quiet is unnerving—no meandering conversation, no music. It feels wrong, but I don’t know what to say to break the silence. Would it be awkward just to admit I got his text but forgot to reply? I wonder if Killian somehow heard something about me and Gabriel, but then I push the thought out of my head. There’s no way he could know, and even if he did, there’s no way he could be mad about it. We’re friends. That’s it. Right?

Finally I can’t take it anymore, and I stick my head around the front seat. “What’s up?”

Killian jumps, like he was a million miles away. “Um, nothing,” he says, flashing me a smile in the rearview mirror. “Just counting down the weeks until we don’t have to worry about drunken drowning and the hazardous combination of glass containers and recreational boating.”

“And how much longer do we have?” I ask, even though I know perfectly well. We have eight weeks of summer left, and I have nineteen kisses to go.

“Only eight weeks.” His face falls. “I’m dreading it.”

“Because of school?”

“Because of everything.” He waves his hand. “I keep telling myself it’s only one more year, and then I’m going to get out of here and never come back.”

I rest my chin on my hand. “Did something happen?” I ask cautiously.

Killian shrugs. “Just the same shit that always happens. I can’t go anywhere in Trawley without running into some asshole who has plenty to say—about my hair, my car, the way I talk.”

“The way you talk?” I think Killian talks like a normal human being—nothing to make fun of there.

He laughs bitterly. “You’d be surprised at the number of people at my high school who are afraid of three-syllable words.” He shakes his head in frustration, glancing at me in the smudged rearview mirror. “Nothing is ever going to change for me there, and I’m sick of it.”

I stand up as Killian guides the minibus back into its spot at the Float & Boat. “Well, you can look forward to watching me kill myself running a half marathon at the end of the summer,” I say, desperate to get the smile to come back to his face, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I have a chance to consider the fact that if I tell someone I’m running the half marathon, I might actually have to make up my mind and do it.

“Wait, what?” Killian follows me off the bus. “You’re a scholar
and
an athlete? I think my brain just exploded.”

“Please.” I blush. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Um,
au contraire
, counselor. A half marathon is 13.1 miles, 23,056 yards, or 69,168 feet. Or one giant heart attack, if you’re me.”

“You are so full of useless knowledge, I’m amazed you can remember your own name.” I grab the end of a canoe that’s still wet from the river, and Killian helps me lift it onto the trailer.

“In my free time, when I’m not angsting over how much my hometown sucks, I’ve been reading a bunch of those Uncle John’s Bathroom Readers to bone up on my random facts. I need to prepare to go up against my archnemesis from Butterfield this year.” He smiles, and although it’s not quite as bright as usual, I’m happy to see it.

I raise one eyebrow. “Wow, bathroom readers. I see you’re focusing purely on academic resources for your information.”

We battle good-naturedly for the rest of the afternoon, Killian’s bad mood forgotten, spinning off into tangents about the history of the cherry industry in Michigan and why celebrities look so scary without any makeup on (a subject Killian has obviously put a lot of thought into). Killian is the only person I’ve met with whom having a conversation is like a competitive sport. He weaves his words together with the practiced ease of a runner in a warm-up jog. I almost can’t believe it when I glance down at my phone and see the day is almost over.

Our last reservation launched at two, and theoretically they should land back at the Float & Boat around five thirty, but after we finish shutting everything down for the day, it’s a quarter to six and there is no sign of them. Clouds are sweeping in from the west, and the weather app on my phone shows a thunderstorm heading straight toward us.

Bob and Mel come out of the office and walk out onto the dock where Killian and I are sitting, dipping our feet in the water. “Still nothing, huh?” Bob says, shading his eyes with his hands and looking out over the river.

“Not yet,” Killian says.

Bob scratches his head. “I’m sure I have a contact phone number in their reservation, but I know service can be spotty out on the water.”

“This is when we need GPS trackers installed on each canoe,” Mel says.

“I hope they have enough sense to get off the river if it starts raining.” Bob scans the sky, his face lined with worry.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon.” Killian stretches. “They had to notice the storm coming.”

Bob looks at his watch and sighs. “So much for my date with Mrs. Flaherty.”

“You should go,” Killian says. “We’ll stay here and wait for them.”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. I should be here in case anything happens.”

“Dad.” Mel nudges him. “Mom will be really mad if you’re late.”

Indecision plays over Bob’s face. He glances up at the sky again. The storm is definitely on its way, but it could be another half hour or more before it gets here. “Are you sure?” he asks Killian and me. “I can absolutely stay if you feel like you need me to. I
should
stay.”

“Go,” I say, trying to sound convincing, although I have no idea what we’ll do if the group doesn’t show up before it starts storming and Bob isn’t here.